


Blindside

by MoiraiThanatoio



Series: Droit du Royal [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family Secrets, M/M, secret royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoiraiThanatoio/pseuds/MoiraiThanatoio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before today, Merlin’s largest source of confusion was why any servant would be jealous of his job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindside

The door slammed open, Merlin stabbing himself in the finger with the needle as Arthur scowled at him. He mentally thanked Gaius for the rather stern talking-to regarding these particularly menial chores and the mis-use of sorcery. If the prince had been an hour earlier, he’d probably be scheduled for a beheading right about now.

Though, from Arthur’s current mood, it was still possible.

“I told you we were going hunting!”

“Uh,” Merlin looked from the pants he was mending in his lap and back to the prince.

Arthur, determinedly not looking at his manservant’s pale – pasty, disgusting, absolutely not at all imaging the length wrapped around his waist – legs before forcing his scowl to deepen rather than disappear.

“Well? Truly, Merlin, I begin to suspect an actual mental affliction.”

“I haven’t finished this,” he managed, putting the needle through fabric and having to free it or undo all his careful work.

The prince rolled his eyes. “You’re my manservant,” he gestured vaguely, “Ealdor can’t have taught you that much parsimony… Buy a new pair.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the cloth. He was denying the flush of shame on his cheeks, in front of this man who had several outfits for each day and was now witnessing his poverty. The unexpected reaction made him snippy – or more so than usual since his words didn’t have their typical joking edge.

“I’ll get right on that, Sire. Maybe when I have some coin.”

“Merlin.”

In an instant, Arthur’s demeanor had gone from annoyed to concerned. It was moments like this that Merlin stopped mentally evaluating the Dragon’s insanity.

“If there is a problem in Ealdor… If there is anything your mother needs…”

It was just enough of a change of topic for Merlin to stare at his prince, confused and slightly gape-mouthed as he tried to follow the chain of thought. “Whu?”

Arthur nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and ducking his head slightly as he tried to hide his attachment behind noble pronouncement. “Of course, it is only your filial duty to help support her, but you must keep enough to see to your needs. Your presence reflects upon my household…”

Merlin bit off the thread and was pulling on his clothing with short jerks, hoping he didn’t snag the recent repair and tear it right back open. “What are you talking about? How in the blazes am I supposed to send my mother anything?”

Rolling his eyes, the prince drawled. “I don’t know. Perhaps from your salary?”

Merlin, stopped, fingers still caught in the ties of his breeches. “Salary?”

There was a long awkward pause.

“Wait – I get paid?”

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, face slack enough to reveal his shock. The prince, however, was not nearly as dull to the workings of the court as it may be assumed by some. His features grew tight, darkening with anger.

The prince spun in place, footsteps heavy as he stalked out of Merlin’s small room and through the physician’s quarters.

“Arthur, wait!”

Merlin, jerking at the ties slightly as his fingers tangled, hurried after his prince. “Look, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it?”

Arthur came to a sudden halt in the hall, spinning to take a sudden grasp on Merlin’s upper arm. “You have served me, at my father’s initial behest and with my consent, for nearly a year and a day.”

“Uh, yes?”

Merlin was clearly nervous, looking like he’d really prefer to pull his arm out of Arthur’s grasp but not wanting to test the grip that would probably bruise him to fight against.

“And the Castle Steward has never spoken to you regarding your position?”

Merlin ducked his head. He didn’t want to admit it, but the steward, Alric, wasn’t exactly all that fond of the hick kid serving his prince.

Arthur let out a noise vaguely resembling a growl as he turned and continued his rapid pace. Unfortunately, he hadn’t exactly released his grip and was managing to drag Merlin along behind him. The occupants of the castle that they passed, on their quick trip through the halls, wisely moved from the prince’s path.

The guard at the door to the steward’s office moved aside, not even opening the door as would normally be expected for the prince. Arthur’s palm hit the reinforced wood with a direct force, slamming the door open to shudder against the stone walls.

The steward jerked in his chair, rising rapidly as he recognized his highness. The glance he shot Merlin, obviously based on his assumption of the prince’s displeasure, was gloating.

“Alric,” Arthur ground out.

“Your Highness,” the steward murmured, bowing slightly.

“On what date do your records reflect my manservant being fully briefed as to the responsibilities and privileges of his position?”

The steward froze for an instant, a very revealing instant, as he straightened back up. Merlin was staring at Arthur, his lips forming the silent syllables that would round out the word ‘privileges’ with obvious doubt.

“I,” Alric hesitated, “am currently studying the accounts. Such notation would be in other records.”

“Well,” Arthur drawled, releasing Merlin’s arm with a short pat to the abused surface. “Since you already have the accounts available, perhaps you’d like to enlighten us both to the amount available for his draw?”

The steward swallowed heavily. His hand shook as he turned a few pages in the heavily bound record book in front of him. Turning the log, he presented it to his prince with the quickest of hard looks at the peasant in the room.

Not quick enough, from the quelling stare that Arthur turned on him in reply. The prince held his gloved hand above the page, tracing just above the column of numbers that reflected continuing addition and no other activity with a finger before pausing it next to the current total and glancing over at Merlin.

Merlin who was staring at the page with wide eyes and a frankly startled expression.

“When we return from the hunt, you will have located the records that indicate Merlin’s orientation to the customs and routines of Camelot was conducted with the integrity reflected by his personal appointment to his post by the King himself.”

Alric’s face was practically bloodless as he nodded in response to the prince’s word. As Arthur turned to leave, neglecting the door, Merlin followed in a daze.

A daze that was silent until they reached the prince’s rooms.

“I get paid.”

Merlin’s voice was less derogatory and more enthralled, on this repetition. “Arthur, you,” his words began, staring at his master – without even the usual mental scoff at such a phrase – with a new understanding.

Arthur was turned away, gazing blindly out the window to the courtyard below. “It reflects poorly on the royal house to have such an incompetent servant. That the error was mine in not ensuring your training was properly undertaken is unforgiveable.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said softly, moving closer to his prince and reaching out. His hand rested slightly on the tense shoulder nearest him.

“I will advise the steward that any future neglect on his part will have consequences.”

“Arthur, I…” Merlin’s hand moved from shoulder to cheek as the prince turned to look at him.

The raw look in Arthur’s eyes dug at his heart even as the prince caught Merlin’s bare palm in his gloved one, taking that hand into a clasped hold with both his hands. Closing his eyes, Arthur denied him.

“No, Merlin.”

“But…”

Arthur shook his head. “You are in a position of subservience.” He ignored Merlin’s snort of disagreement and his jaw tightened as he continued, “No matter our inclinations, a personal connection would be inappropriate.”

“Arthur?”

The prince closed his eyes against the question in Merlin’s gaze. “My position is an accident of birth. My honor is mine alone. Do not ask me to question it.”

Merlin took his hand back, slowly and carefully drawing it from the grasp of warmed leather. “Of course, Sire.”

He took one, then two and three steps back, not able to watch the conflict on Arthur’s face so he turned away. “I will be in the stables. With preparation, the horses will be ready for a hunt within the hour.”

***

Their pace out of the gates of the castle was slow and measured. None of the usual jocularity or teasing, just strained quiet. The men, prince and manservant, rode together without an entourage intent on an afternoon of casual sport in the local forest.

And as they left, neither gave a second glance to the men traveling into the castle, clothed in the garb of Celidoine.


End file.
